


Guns For Hands

by tantrumparx



Category: Septiplier - Fandom
Genre: Depressed!Jack, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Long-Distance Friendship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Self-Harm, graphic ??, idk im terrible at tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:56:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8705944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tantrumparx/pseuds/tantrumparx
Summary: Jack's not really sure why he feels this way; it might be the loneliness he feels daily and the same old schedule he's fallen into after following it for so long. What he does know is there isn't really just one reason as to why he mutilates his own body, he just wants to feel something.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [if you are affected by depression and self-harm and a possible eating disorder I advise you don't read this, but if you do be careful. In no way am I promoting self-harm/depression and any other mental illnesses as a trend I just wanted to write whatever this is to vent. x]

 

I'm not really sure why I feel this way; it might be the loneliness I feel daily and the same old schedule I've fallen into after following it for so long. What I do know, though, is there isn't really just one reason as to why I mutilate my own body. I just need to feel something, if I don't I get distracted there isn't anything else I could really think of doing. It's also following the same old pattern everyday that really tires me out, I almost feel like a programmed robot. It's typically a pattern of waking up, recording, maybe eating, recording, then going to bed to try and get some sleep. The nights I can't sleep are possibly the worst, the silence seems to drown everything else out and I'm left alone with my own thoughts. I doesn't have friends in Ireland and no one to spend my days with, so its painfully lonely and numbing sometimes.

I'm so used to feeling numb I've fallen into this pattern of finding any way to harm myself, and whether its accidental or deliberate it doesn't matter much to me as long as I feel something every now and then. Whether its catching myself on the corner of his desk whilst passing it, or raking my nails against my skin, or the cold metal gripped tightly between my fingers as I drags harsh lines through my skin, its enough to feel something even if for a little while. 

I don't post much on social media much anymore aside from the videos I post daily and occasionally a tweet here and there. I don't talk to my friends as much as usual which is okay because they have better things to be doing with their lives than talking to someone like me. Which is why it's a shock to me when the sudden familiar tone of the skype ringtone breaks the silence all around me. It takes everything in me to drag myself out of my bed and to my computer but I he get there to see Mark calling me. Breathing out a sigh, I sit in my chair and answer the call before it could cut off. 

"Hey, Jack! We haven't spoke properly in a while!" Mark's familiar warm tone played through the speakers to me, snapping me out a trance I hadn't realised I'd already fallen in. Quickly plastering a smile on my face I spoke back to him, hoping it'd be enough to calm my mind for today. 

"Hey Markimoo, I know. You don't talk to me anymore, I'll change I promise!" I say in a joking tone, laughing at the end of the sentence and trying to cover how fake it sounded with a small cough, smiling afterwards.

A frown plastered Mark's face and my heart dropped, my fingers already making its way up my long sleeve and scratching at my own arm to stop myself thinking the worst in this moment. 

"Jack, I've been watching your recent videos and you seem.. different. Is everything okay?" 

I blink away tears that threatened to spill and smiled once again, nodding to hopefully convince him and maybe even myself everything is okay.

"Of course I'm okay Mark, everything's fine. I promise."

An almost silent sigh played through my speakers, concern laced over my friend's face. I refuse to let anyone know about this, because I was doing just fine. Everything was okay, I just got a little tired sometimes and zoned out but it was normal because everyone does it. There were people out there with worse problems than me, I'd sound pathetic if i told him "oh, you know I'm just really fucking lonely and can't seem to snap out of this pattern of recording and harming myself over and over again". The nails scratching against my skin didn't seem to stop until I glanced down and tore my hand away, seeing the damage I had caused without realising it. Small beads of blood slowly trickled down my arm, harsh angry scratches standing boldly against my milky-looking skin. 

"Jack are you sure? Because I'm always here if you need someone to talk to. I'm sorry we haven't talked as much lately, and I truly do feel bad about it. But no matter what you'll always be my best friend, I promise". Mark's soft smile seemed to stand out the most in this moment, despite the look of concern still in his eyes. 

"I know, Mark, it's okay. I'm not mad we haven't talked much lately, we're both really busy people so it's understandable. I'm really sorry to cut this skype call short too because of how little we talk nowadays but I kind of have something to do right now. I promise to call you tomorrow though?" The fingertips drumming at my knee never seemed to stop, but I kept his focus on my computer for now to see Mark simply nod his head once. 

"Okay, but you better call me tomorrow so we can talk properly! But remember you can talk to me whenever you need to, I promise." 

"Thanks Mark, I appreciate it. Love yeh, I'll call tomorrow!" 

As soon I was sure Mark heard what I said I ended the skype call and stood up, walking to my bathroom and shutting my door despite no one living with me. Hesitation took over for a second before I grabbed the piece of metal that I'd used so much recently and rolled up my sleeve, exposing angry red lines and even some old white ones. I felt sick to my stomach but pressed the blade to my skin and dragged it across multiple times, wiping away a single tear that spilled. 

 

 

 

[Let me know if you'd like more? This is the first time really writing something so I'm sorry if it sucks x.]


	2. Chapter 2

Once I had bandaged my fresh wounds I made my way over to my computer to turn it off, my eyes scanning across a new message I hadn't noticed. Despite the burning in my eyes from crying and lack of sleep I managed to make it out, seeing it was a message from Mark and by the looks of it, he had sent it after I hung up. 

"Make sure you sleep, you look tired x" 

I chuckled to myself and turned off my computer and made my way to my bed, getting into it. He was right, I really was exhausted. Whether its the lack of sleep or everything going on right now, it was tiring. I doubted I was going to sleep tonight, when did I ever sleep anymore? I don't know when the last time I got a decent amount of sleep was, if I'm honest. I can't remember the last time I wasn't so tired and sick of the same thing every day. 

I pulled the covers over me to blanket myself in warmth as I continued to think. I thought about my YouTube career and if anyone even liked my content anymore or if I was just another loud guy who yells too much and is overexcited.. or used to be, at least. Everyone else I know seems to be doing just fine, why aren't I? Their YouTube careers are amazing and they all seem so happy, and I'd like to think I'm doing pretty well right now.. so why am I so sad? Apart from the loneliness and the repetitive cycle of each day, I can't really think of why I'm like this. Why I'm so depressed, and self-harm.

I'd had a pretty decent childhood, I had friends and a caring family and although I didn't always get on well with them it wasn't like they cared any less. It's selfish of me to be this way and to complain about my life and the things I have going on, there are people doing worse than me and have actual problems. But it isn't really like I can change the way I feel, although I wish I could. I'd do anything to feel so alive again.

I sighed and turned on my side in my bed, laying my head on my pillow. My fingers ran across the pale white bandage now covering my torn and bloody arm. I lightly drummed my fingers against my arm, wincing when I tap a fresh cut. 

I wonder what'd happen if my friends or family, or even fans found out. I don't want them to know me as "the person who mutilates their own body when they feel like shit" although its technically true. I wonder what they'd think if they knew the hyperactive Irish boy did this to themselves. I scoffed, and shook my head. It's not like they'd know anyway. I don't go outside, and I'm almost always wearing long sleeves so it's not out of the ordinary. 

But it's still a thought that lingers in my mind. What Mark, especially, would do if he found out. Maybe he'd be disgusted and wouldn't speak to me again, maybe he'd tell people how pathetic I am because people have it worse than me yet here I am tearing my own skin apart. 

I don't even know why I'm thinking so much about Mark right now, it might be because I was just on Skype to him. I picked up my phone to check the time, 2:03am. Great. I put my phone back where it was after discovering I had no important notifications and tried to get to sleep, because God knows I need it right now. 

 

 

 

 

[this is so bad I'm annoyed ugh I'll spend more time writing the next chapter :( x ]

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

(This chapter is graphic so if you are affected by this please be careful or don't read ahead x ) 

 

I woke up the same as I did every other day; the heavy feeling on my chest weighing me down and the struggle to find reason to get out of bed and be productive as strong as usual. The day's activities consisted of recording, drinking coffee, and going back to recording once again. There wasn't much else to do anymore, not with this busy Youtube schedule and lack of friends here in Ireland. Do I even have friends anymore? Because it doesn't feel like it - I feel like a burden. Like people are just tolerating me. 

With a heavy sigh I stood up and practically ripped my headphones off, dragging my feet to the kitchen and pouring myself another coffee. It was no wonder I didn't sleep anymore, I practically breathe coffee at this point. A small chuckle sounded throughout my kitchen at my own thought before sitting down in a chair and resting my head on my table. Today was worse than others, but I can't abandon what I'm doing. 

Or could I? It seemed inevitable at this point, I'm slowly rotting away as cliche as it sounds. I don't have the energy for anything anymore. Recording is a struggle and harder than usual, talking to people who were once my best friends seems forced, I can't bring myself to eat properly anymore or sleep and I'm depending on coffee to get me through these seemingly never-ending days. 

I wonder if anyone would even care if I were to just.. disappear. Maybe take a break from Youtube. Close my social media. Just disappear from public eye. Or disappear in general. I don't contribute anything to anyone anymore and I'm just getting through days without doing anything useful to anyone so would it really make any difference whether I was here or not? No one would really care much if I were to die, and God knows I've thought about this a countless amount of times before. 

I shake my head at myself and scoff, leaving my untouched and now lukewarm drink on the side and stand up, my head spinning from the simple action. When had I last eaten a proper meal? It doesn't matter anyway, really. I carry out the simple task of almost dragging my legs along to get somewhere, my mind empty and almost.. numb. I already knew where I was going; what I was going to do. It was no secret to me this hadn't been carried out multiple times before. 

I make my way to the cupboard above my bathroom sink and take the shiny metal I had used many times before, and slump to the floor. My sleeves are easily lifted, revealing rows of crisscrossed and jagged scars - some old and white, and some red and raw, and standing out like headlights. The thought of dragging the blade across my wrists and ending it now is so.. appealing. There's nothing stopping me. There never really has been. There's no one stopping me ending it all right now and abandoning everything and leaving it all behind, and the thought of this is so appealing to me. 

The familiar feeling of my skin being torn apart is a bitter reminder of how alone I am, and so I drag the blade harshly multiple times across my forearm once again. The blood quickly pools up and starts to stain my skin and fall onto the floor, but right now I can't bring myself to think about that. I can't bring myself to stop. I don't think it's enough - nothing I do is ever enough. 

Without thinking, my trembling fingers bring the blade to my wrist and in a flash tear it apart, and only in this moment do I realise what I've done. The blood starts pouring out of the wound very clearly bigger than others. What was I doing? Holy fuck, was I trying to kill myself? The blade is slid across the cold tiles and I grab the nearest towel I can find, pressing it against the wound that is insistently bleeding and forgetting about the others that were paper cuts in comparison to this. 

"Everyone's going to think I'm fucking insane, isn't that just wonderful?" I speak bitterly to the empty room, my hand tightening around the towel pressed against my wrist. The thought of leaving it and bleeding out is lingering in the back of my mind, but I somehow find the motivation to do something about it and begin to wrap the wound in gauze, hissing when I move my wrist. 

Tears begin to pool in my eyes when I realise what I was going to do - knowing I could've died is so prominent to me and I'm not sure how to feel about this right now. It was what I wanted, I'd be doing people a favour.. so why am I not continuing this self destruction? Because as far as I'm concerned.. no one really cares.

 

 

(this chapter actually fucking sucks but i've had shit going on and i haven't had the time/motivation to update, and it seems like i can't write at all and idk how i feel about this story anymore :/ )


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